


some are the melody, some are the beat

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Clubbing, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"let's dance in style, let's dance for a while." Or, quite simply, sex in a club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some are the melody, some are the beat

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary by Alphaville. Thanks to foxxcub for beta.

Arthur’s too drunk for this, he honestly is.

It started with a birthday celebration for Mal at a lovely restaurant which somehow morphed into a night of clubbing. “It’s 80's night, Arthur. You cannot deny me this.”

Arthur just shook his head, gulped down more wine and refused to look at Eames’ mirthful expression, or the way the corner of his mouth caught on a crooked grin and made him look undoubtedly attractive.

At the club he and Dom nursed their beers and watched Eames and Mal grind slowly to some indie version of “Forever Young”.

“This isn’t an 80's band!” Arthur yelled to Dom.

“But it’s an 80's song!” Dom smirked, leaning closer.

Arthur frowned at the dance floor, where Eames was behind Mal and his hands were grazing up and down her slim waist.

“You don’t care?!” Arthur protested.

Dom looked at him in confusion. “Why would I care that it’s not an 80's band? Do you want to take up a complaint with the DJ?”

Arthur shook his head hard. “No, no, that!” he gestured wildly with his beer bottle at Eames and Mal.

When he looked back at Dom, his eyes were wide and an amused smile was tugging at his lips. “Um, no. Uh, pretty sure Mal isn’t Eames’ type.” And yeah, okay, Arthur knows all the implications of that statement and kind of resents that it’s yet another thing he and Eames have in common, but still..

“Hmm,” Arthur said and went back to staring at his beer before taking a tentative sip, his mind suddenly fuzzy and yeah, he was totally drunk.

“Why, do you?” Dom yelled back, the baiting tone unmistakable. Arthur barely processed the words, unable to tear himself away from the way Eames’ hips are moving, or the swell of his ass beneath tight denim that Arthur so rarely got to see. He looked at Dom, whose eyes widened comically.

“Arthur..”

Arthur cut his eyes away from Dom and back out to the dance floor. He met Eames’, who just laughed and crooked his finger at Arthur before he threw his head back. Arthur shoot his head, mouthing the word “no” over and over but it was too late. Mal whispered something in Eames’ ear and then bounced her way through the throng of bodies and grabbed Arthur’s wrists, spilling his beer on the table. She blew a kiss to Dom and tugged Arthur with her, ignoring his protests.

His head was spinning a little from the speed in which Mal pulled them through the over-heated club and a lot from the alcohol. Before he could even process his location he felt strong hands lock around his waist and felt Mal behind him, which meant – Eames. They moved in time with the rhythm for a few long seconds before Mal whispered, “have fun” in his ear and slinked off. It sounded like a command.

Eames was close, so close, and Arthur could smell him, the musky scent of his cologne permeating through Arthur’s nostrils. He breathed in deep; let it fill him up, consume him. Eames’ mouth moved to his ear. “Thought I’d never see you loosen up,” he said, and then he guided Arthur’s hands to his own hips. They began moving with purpose, the only thought in Arthur’s mind was: _want, oh my god, I want_.

____________________________________________________________________________________

This is how Arthur finds himself grinding against Eames in a packed nightclub on 80's night, of all things. And Arthur’s just too drunk for the ridiculousness of this situation -- or, perhaps, not drunk enough. Despite the fuzziness around the center of his brain, he still knows a few things: he shouldn’t have allowed Eames to coax him onto the dance floor and he shouldn’t have let Dom get under his skin when he said, while Mal had been making her way over, ‘Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, if there’s anything I’ve learned it’s this: life is short. Go out there and just take what you want.’ He couldn’t understand why Dom’s lips quirked up when he shot back “you don’t even _like_ Eames.” Until this very moment when the cloudiness clears briefly, allowing him to remember that Dom never once said Eames’ name.

And so now here he is, with Eames’ hand sliding down to palm his ass and pull him tighter against him. Eames’ breath is hot on his neck and it’s like a dam breaking. Arthur’s too drunk for this, he’s just too drunk for this.

He feels his cock fill, pressing hard against his zipper, caught in a no-win situation between the fabric of his pants and Eames’ jeans. Arthur’s thrilled, for once, about the incessant loudness of club; as it masks his gasps. Eames’ hand runs down the back of his thigh and "Obsession" is playing.

Arthur’s hears, ‘you’re my obsession, who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?’ and he recklessly thinks he may not need to be anyone else but himself. He feels the briefest touch of Eames’ lips against his throat, and then there’s a voice at his ear saying, “You should put your hands on me,” and fuck, that’s Eames’ voice, and Arthur, he..

“Eames..," he starts. It’s a plea, or a question, or a beg, he doesn’t even know anymore until Eames pulls back and takes Arthur’s hands between his own, staring at him darkly in a silent attempt at communication.

Then Eames’ mouth is back against his ear. “Don’t think. Just touch me.. please, Arthur." Eames’ voice is a low and gravely, like it’s been raked across rocks of lava, and if Arthur hadn’t already been hard, he would be now.

The sound of Eames’ voice, coupled with the _words_ he’s uttering causes Arthur’s synapses to short out. Eames moves Arthur’s hands around his body and guides them to his ass. Arthur’s fingers instinctively curl into the denim, and then it’s Eames’ turn to fall apart on a moan. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” Eames groans and tugs Arthur’s earlobe between his teeth, shifting his weight so his leg is nudged between Arthur’s thighs and god, Arthur can feel how hard he is. Arthur’s fingernails bear down to pull Eames higher, closer, so Eames can feel the full-blown drag of Arthur’s cock against his own.

“Arthur,” Eames gasps, and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room and everyone else has floated away. Arthur doesn’t know if he’d find Mal and Dom watching them wide-eyed and open-mouthed right now and he won’t let himself look. He’s just going to keep his eyes closed and press his mouth against Eames’ jaw, letting his top teeth scrape along two-day-old stubble and breathe in the scent of Eames’ cologne and god, he’d fuck him, he’d fuck him right here, everyone else be damned.

Eames’ hands clutch his ass and pull him closer, their cocks meeting with intent now, with every grinding motion. “Oh my god, I’d let you, you have no idea,” Eames gasps and Arthur – oh fuck. He pulls back, just enough so their eyes can meet.

“What?"

Eames dives right back to his neck, licking a long, slow strip up to Arthur’s ear. “Said you wanted to fuck me right here. Just tell me how you want me.” Eames swirls his tongue over the shell of Arthur’s ear. “And I’m yours.”

There are certain things that Arthur cannot tolerate: a person who works at a cashier register but cannot make change; watching a film without subtitles; Eames’ clothes. But what Arthur really cannot handle is being drunk off his ass in a hot sweaty club with the man of his fucking fantasies telling him it’d be alright if he wished to defile him in public. So Arthur does what any sane man would do: he fists his hand in Eames’ hair and drags their mouths together. Arthur licks along the insane line of Eames’ upper lip, coaxing them apart with his tongue and fucks Eames mouth the way he wants to fuck his ass, and there’s just no pretending he can stop any of this now.

Without preamble, Arthur deftly undoes Eames' flies; hand shoved close between their bodies as he wraps his long fingers around Eames' cock and cups him, jerking him close. Eames hisses against his ear and lets loose a broken sob. “Bloody hell, Arrrrthur,” he’s gasping, brokenly, and Arthur can do nothing do except swallow his lips in a desperate, needy kiss and pant, against them, “Touch me.”

Eames’ jeans are open and Arthur slowly takes him out, trapping Eames’ cock between their bodies. The friction and heat of him is incredible but it doesn’t quell Arthur’s frustration; he wants to be in Eames _yesterday_. Still, he can’t exactly complain when Eames’ dick is all up against him. He tilts his neck back and guides Eames’ hands down to the front of his pants. Eames undoes him with an incredible amount of grace, somehow, curling his hand inside, getting his grip on Arthur’s cock. They’re surrounded by bodies, but honestly, Arthur doesn’t even fucking care if the whole world can see, especially not when Eames’ tongue is back in his mouth. Then Eames is sucking hard, practically fucking him open with his tongue.

Arthur's so fucking close, he knows it. Even with the alcohol in his blood, even with the people crushed around them. As if reading his thoughts, Eames growls in his ear, “You're gonna make me come like this. S’that what you want? Feel me come apart against you in front of all these people?”

The dance floor is getting more crowded. Arthur randomly catches the eye of a girl. She gives him a knowing smirk and he feels his face flush, not with embarrassment but with – pride. There’s no longer any between his and Eames' bodies. Eames is fucking up against him, the pace heavy and frantic. Arthur arches his spine further, taut and tense. His head falls back until his lips are right below Eames' ear. Eames' hand speeds up on him. He's spilling pre-cum onto Eames' fingers and he just – he can’t.. so he says it. “Fuck, yes. Yes, Eames.. wanna feel you. Wanna take you apart..”

Eames groans and bites at Arthur’s neck again, “God, yes.”

Arthur thankfully has the presence of mind to realize that this probably isn't the best idea to come out on a dance floor in front of everyone. He fights to pull himself together and gasps, "Wait, wait, not here, c'mon..." He drags Eames to the far wall of the club, covering his groin with his hands, Eames plastered to his back. It’s dark enough in their new location that if they do more, it won't be so obvious. Eames stays pressed up against him, mouthing at his neck, and Arthur can't remember the last time he was this hard.

Eames is hot against him and Arthur's sweating, his brain still fuzzy from the alcohol. Eames presses him face first against the wall, the surface cool against his overheated cheek.

“I want you inside me so bad, but I think that's too much for you right now.. Tell me what you want Arthur,” Eames grinds out, licking behind Arthur’s ear, his breath hot and wet. “I'll fuck you right here against this wall or we can just rub off against each other.. Just tell me, baby,” and he's everywhere and Arthur smells him, can still taste him.

Arthur can't even think, his body is one giant ball of sensation and craving and all he can manage to say is, "Just--just don't stop touching me. Just make me come, god, fuck, Eames--" Before he can finish Eames is turning him around and _crushing_ him into the club wall, devouring his mouth and grinding his bare cock against Arthur's, slick and heavy.

Eames sucks Arthur’s breath out of him, kissing him hard and deep. He licks up against Arthur’s tongue, behind his teeth, then pulls back just as fast to bite at Arthur’s lips, suckling the bottom one into his mouth, tugging with only his teeth while Arthur can do nothing but gasp against him, swallowing moans.

Their bodies move together, erections sliding, sending electric charges throughout his body. Eames groans against his lips, his fingers clenching on Arthur's hip and then he's whispering, “When we get out of here you're going to wreck me.. gonna push me down on the bed and fuck me till I can’t move.”

Arthur must make a sound of protest because Eames says, “Will you want this when you're sober, love? Will you want me to ride your cock, feel you thick and hot inside me; want me to do the same -- push you down and pull your knees up to your head and fuck that tight arse of yours? Fucking tell me, Arthur,” he pants, all the while biting along his neck, jaw, chin.

Arthur pulls him tighter, hand on his ass. "Jesus fuck, Eames, _yes_. Always have, you fucking asshole.”

"Oh fuck," Eames murmurs and attacks his mouth. Arthur can feel Eames' cock pulsing. He has no blood left in his brain. Eames pulls back, pushes Arthur's hair away from his forehead where it's fallen loose from the gel. “You're gorgeous like this,” he says, kissing the damp hair at Arthur's temple and then his cheek which Arthur just knows is a ridiculous shade of pink even under the rainbow display of club lights. Eames seems to love this though, can't get enough; he pulls at Arthur's hair and musses him up some more, raking his fingers through it until there's nothing but sweat slicked strands falling everywhere. “So fucking gorgeous,” Eames whispers, and Arthur can't take this anymore, he can't.

“Eames, Eames, I need..” Arthur hooks his leg over Eames' thigh, pushes his hips upward and angles his body back against the wall. He grips Eames' ass with right hand and ruts against him savagely, his dick sore and aching from each accidental brush of denim and purposeful touch from Eames.

Eames is breathing raggedly into Arthur's shoulder, his voice shaken, broken. "Come.. oh fuck, Arthur come for me.. let me see you, feel you.."

Eames' mouth is hot (so hot) on his neck. He sucks a bruise right above the collar of Arthur’s shirt. Arthur’s skin feels like it’s on fire. Eames' hands are cupping his ass as he arches his back against the wall, grinding their hips together, the urgency building between them. Eames growls against Arthur's neck, “Come on, baby, now.” Arthur's finger tense against Eames' ass and his balls tighten. He feels a swell of heat at the base of his spine, and then Eames' hands are in his hair and Eames is staring into his eyes, his own blown wide and dark.

"Eames, I.. oh my _god_ ”. Eames grip is tight at the nape of Arthur's neck and Arthur can't break away; his hips are pinned and can't look anywhere else. He falls into Eames' gaze, seeing heat and lust and so much more. Arthur groans, "I want you so fucking bad..” and Eames thrusts up against him, feels the naked slide of their cocks and then he's tumbling over the edge, Eames' gaze never wavering while he licks his lips and says, “You're going to have me.” And then he's coming, pulsing against Arthur, and Arthur feels the jerk of it, the rush of fluid. Eames gets his hand on them, then, and Arthur cries out so loudly he's sure he can be heard over the music until Eames angles their mouths together. He comes hard into Eames' hand, feeling him hold them both, right against each other, the heat of it insane and heady. Arthur lets it go on until it’s simply too much and he has to bite Eames' lip to make him let go. They rest against the wall, an utter mess, catching their breaths in-between kisses and unhurried gropes.

Eames eventually drags Arthur to the bathroom where they clean up. Afterwards, they attempt a discreet exit but Mal spots them. She’s smiling far too wide for Arthur’s liking. When he notices Dom’s own shark-like grin, Arthur would like nothing more to curl up and die, but first he’ll go to his apartment and push his fingers slowly into Eames and make him beg to ride Arthur’s cock. The ramifications of public sex can wait until tomorrow.

[end]


End file.
